In Silence
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: After Sherlock's fall, John keeps hanging around Barts.


Molly doesn't know why John keeps hanging around Barts after Sherlock's "death." She kind of wishes he wouldn't. Some days she cannot stand to see the look on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He has the look of a man who has lost his way and cannot find it again. She understands what Sherlock meant to him because he had always meant so much to her. Sherlock is simply one of those people whom it is very easy to both hate and love at the same times. He'd always say the most awful things but he was brilliant and anyone who could see past the exterior, who could see that the brilliance comes along with a heart that is capable of caring, would be doomed to love him.

It is because they share this love for Sherlock that Molly finds it so difficult to look John in the eyes. Caring, sweet John who had never said a harsh word to her, who had always looked at her with more understanding that anyone else, who took her social awkwardness and turned it into an endearing feature. She is betraying him with every second that she allows him to suffer without Sherlock, not knowing that Sherlock is, in fact, alive. It's downright cruel and Molly had always hated cruelty. She might work in a morgue but she still hates cruelty. God knows she sees enough of it on her examination table every day.

But Sherlock had made her swear and she cannot go back on that promise. If for any reason then because Sherlock had also said that it was for John's safety as well. She will keep her mouth shut – that she can do.

* * *

One day she snaps and asks John over for tea. He doesn't look like the sort who has any friends. It's strange because he is such a wonderful person, it is so obvious. And if he could get along with Sherlock then certain he could get along with most of the human race.

It's not that John is completely isolated. He sometimes goes for a drink with Lestrade, sometimes mentions coffee with some co-workers. There's also Sarah, although Molly is under the impression that that particular relationship has stopped working. She is not sure why that makes her happy, certainly it should not for John needs all the support he can get right now.

Yet there's a fear somewhere deep within her that if John recovers from his shock, if he stops hanging around Barts, if Sarah will be enough, then Molly will not see him again. In that respect, she and John are very similar – genial people without many, or any, true friends to speak of. It's a torn feeling – she feels guilty when he's there but she hates it when he's gone.

In the end, it seems, she'd rather he stick around.

* * *

Lucy – the cat – and John get along quite nicely. Lucy likes to curl up on John's lap and he pets her with one hand while holding the white tea cup in the other. They sit on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder, not talking much as the rain falls down onto the concrete outside. Over the weeks, this has become a ritual of sorts.

Molly wants to say something, in the dim light of the sitting room she feels braver than under the bright lights of the hospital. But she does not know what to say. She cannot, surely, tell John to keep hanging around Barts, or that she hopes he will always come for tea on Thursday afternoons, or that he's the first man she's ever brought home that Lucy "approves" of. All these things sound terribly banal and fake, constructed. None of them are what she truly wants to say and yet she has no idea what else she could say.

"I'm glad you're here," she says finally once their tea is done and the cookies she baked last night are eaten.

John turns at the door and gives her a faint smile. "Me too. I'll see you next week, Molly?"

He leaves and she is left standing in the middle of the hallway, hugging herself and staring at the closed door. Sometimes, she wishes he would spend the night. It's colder in the flat without him.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes is insufferable and obviously enjoys sticking his nose into everyone else's business. He catches her after work, twirling his ever-present umbrella and offers her a ride home. The fact that he came himself is reason enough for Molly to not protest.

"You've been seeing John a lot lately."

Molly tries to not roll her eyes. Mycroft makes her uncomfortable but not in the way other people do. Rather, she can actually find it in herself to snap at him a little. "Very observant of you, Mr. Holmes. He comes for tea. We've both been in need of a friend."

"What do you talk about?"

Molly shrugs. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing." They pull up to her apartment building and she reaches for the door but Mycroft holds her back.

"Remember, Ms. Hooper. No one must know."

She looks back at him, at the impenetrable expression on his face, and feels a clear feeling of disgust rise up in her throat. "How could I forget." She makes a run for it and he, thankfully, lets her go.

* * *

The next time John leaves her apartment, Molly hugs him.

She hugs him and he kisses her. He kisses her at the door and leaves into the grey twilight only to stop and look back. She waves at him and smiles encouragingly. He smiles back and nods before turning away.

She closes the door and leans against it, touching one hand to her lips where he had softly kissed her; almost a promise.

She couldn't tell him about Sherlock. And not because Mycroft Holmes told her not to. Not even because Sherlock had asked her not to. But because John would certainly hate her if he knew she had been lying to him all this time.

And she couldn't lose him.


End file.
